


worst case scenario

by a financial diuretic (Shame_Account)



Series: i've seen 2 whole episodes of Suits don't ask me how lawyering works [9]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Accidents, Boss/Employee Relationship, Desperation, Developing Relationship, Hair Washing, Hurt/Comfort, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Modern Era, Omorashi, Subdrop, Trans Alex, Trans Male Character, Watersports, Wetting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-20
Updated: 2016-05-20
Packaged: 2018-06-09 16:01:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6913837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shame_Account/pseuds/a%20financial%20diuretic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another deep breath. Alex feels lightheaded. "Okay, you may have just staved off the anxiety attack my brain's been trying to figure out if I'm going to have for the past three minutes or so. Thanks. Now there's just, you know, the gut-wrenching shame, do you have any pearls of wisdom for that?"</p><p>George shrugs. "Take a shower, we'll do what we can for your clothes, then watch a movie or something?"</p><p>"I really wish," Alex says, plucking dejectedly at one pant leg, "I could afford to just burn these."</p>
            </blockquote>





	worst case scenario

**Author's Note:**

> For anyone invested in things like emotional arc consistency (like I secretly am): this takes place not too long after [kind of into it](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6513877), which is itself set several months after [rephrase the question](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6634768). I have more story to tell during those months but this idea grabbed me and wouldn't let go.

The only thing Alex has been consciously registering for the past several minutes is the panic.

His awareness works itself backwards – he's opening the apartment door, therefore he has the key; George gave him the key; George isn't here yet; Alex took the key and bolted.

He slams the door shut behind him, tears his jacket off and flings it in the vague direction of the couch as he barrels straight through the living room, into the bathroom, crashes to his hands and knees in the shower, nearly gets tangled in the curtain, thrashes it away and shoves himself against the tile wall as his bladder finally gives in.

It feels _good_ , and for a few seconds he lets it. Lets the sheer physical relief wash over him, wet heat flooding his crotch and seeping up his shirt and puddling beneath him. He shivers.

Then: the horror. Not at all mitigated by his arousal. He just damn near pissed himself, out on the fucking sidewalk, barely managed to halt the warm trickle that escaped him at that last intersection.

"I'm gonna throw up," he mutters to no one, sagging against the shower wall. "I'm still wearing my fuckin' _shoes_ , I'm gonna _throw up_." His legs are stretched out – good instincts – it hasn't actually _reached_ his shoes. He fumbles them off with shaking hands, drops them just outside the shower. Peels off his socks and deposits them next because, hey, salvage what you can, and then retreats as far back as he can get and curls up in a miserable ball. The flow of urine stutters and then stops, and he moans. He still has to piss – _so bad_ – and his body is steadfastly rejecting the memo that this is not, in fact, something to get excited about at this time, _thanks_.

The floor outside creaks – footsteps – so George finally caught up – George is being _quiet_ and Alex holds his breath, squeezes his eyes shut.

The footfalls stop outside the bathroom. He left the door open: George knocks on the wall, twice, soft. Alex doesn't open his eyes, shoves himself further into the corner of the shower as George speaks, voice low.

"Do you want me to come in or stay out?"

"I want you to murder me."

"That was not one of the choices."

"That was literally, like, my worst case scenario for this, please just kill me. Stab me. In the gut. Make it slow."

"You still haven't answered me."

"Do whatever." Alex gulps past the sudden obstruction in his throat. "I don't care."

"I just want to help."

Alex tries to laugh derisively and has to muffle the resulting sob into his hands.

And then George is just – there. Pushing the curtain aside and crouching down to be at eye level, just outside of the shower. Just outside of Alex's space – definitely deliberate. He appreciates it.

"It's okay," George says quietly, and Alex does actually laugh at that.

"Oh, sure, everything's _great_ , I only started to fucking piss myself in the _street_ , that's all."

George frowns. "I – did you?"

Alex's jaw is clenched too tight for his mouth to actually fall open but the sentiment is there. "Uh, what did you _think_ was happening?"

"No, I know, I just mean – Alex, I was right next to you and I didn't even realize anything was wrong until you asked for the key and ran off. If... If you were worried about people, uh. Noticing."

Alex shuts his eyes again, takes a deep breath, counts, exhales. "If you're lying to me right now I will _actually_ never forgive you."

"I wouldn't lie to you."

Alex opens his eyes, tries to crack a grin. "Really, not even to make me feel better?"

"No, I'd just tell you that the odds of any given New Yorker caring about what's happening to a stranger on the sidewalk for more than ten seconds are pretty low and that they'd probably never recognize you even if you did run into them again."

Another deep breath. Alex feels lightheaded. "Okay, you may have just staved off the anxiety attack my brain's been trying to figure out if I'm going to have for the past three minutes or so. Thanks. Now there's just, you know, the gut-wrenching shame, do you have any pearls of wisdom for that?"

George shrugs. "Take a shower, we'll do what we can for your clothes, then watch a movie or something?"

"I really wish," Alex says, plucking dejectedly at one pant leg, "I could afford to just burn these."

George tilts his head, his face the picture of neutrality. "Just, uh. Use a lot of soap, and we can soak it all in water and vinegar after, leave it in the shower overnight and then throw it in the laundry?"

Alex laughs uneasily. "Are you hiding, like, a _gallon_ of vinegar somewhere, because, uh." He gestures down at himself. Mostly he just says it for something to say – they do this on purpose often enough, they have plenty of vinegar. Granted it's usually getting used on one pair of boxers as opposed to, say, an entire fucking outfit and oh, look at that, his hands are back to shaking. He stares at them. "...Okay so I may have jumped the gun on the whole anxiety attack thing, I think that's still on the table."

George starts to straighten up, moves to take a step into the shower and Alex frantically waves him off, shoves himself away. George backs off, hands up, placating. "Okay, sorry, I won't –"

"It's not – I just mean – you can come in, just, get undressed first?"

George hesitates. "Alex –"

"I get it, you don't want me to feel like the weird fucked up person in the shower with his clothes on because he – and I do, I do _very much feel like that_ , thanks for noticing, I appreciate the gesture and all but I am _covered in urine_ and if it gets on your clothes I will jump out the window."

"Okay." George strips, quickly and efficiently, steps into the shower and turns the water on. Kneels down carefully next to Alex – the shower is just big enough to give them room not to touch if they don't want to – and asks, just loud enough to be heard over the water, "Can I hold you?"

How he can just – just _say things_ like that, utterly sincere and straight-faced and like he knows what he's doing, Alex has yet to figure out. He can't bring himself to answer, just leans into him and tries not to start actively sobbing because _that's_ what needs to happen on top of everything else today.

Positive: the panic and the cold water – it always takes a minute to heat up – are effectively killing his very much unwanted, inhibitive arousal. Negative: he no longer actually _wants_ to finish emptying his bladder.

It's... stupid and utterly pointless because the damage has very much been done, but the idea of George seeing him lose control again is suddenly just – horrifying.

He wonders exactly how ridiculous it would be to insist on getting up and stepping out to the toilet.

...Very. It would be _very_ _ridiculous_.

"Um," he says, and clears his throat, because the idea of just – just doing it and not even saying anything is somehow worse. "I still – I still – I wasn't –" _hey so funny story i was actually really inconveniently turned on by this situation but that has since resolved itself and i can't actually hold it any longer and i am horrified, horrified, please_ _hurl me into the_ _ **sun**_

George pulls him closer, murmurs "it's okay" in his ear, runs one hand up and down his back. "You're okay, we're okay."

It's so...

It's what they've done a dozen times before. Alex freaking out – never this bad and generally preceded by orgasm, but okay, shut up, brain, this train of thought has an actual destination – and George just holding him under the shower spray, reassuring him.

Except that's – that's still part of a _scene_ , kind of, and this – this was real, this wasn't even, like, something they were planning for tonight that got out of hand, this was just Alex fucking up, drinking too much water for something to do with his hands in a meeting and not using the bathroom all day.

This was _real_ and George is still here holding him and telling him everything is fine.

Alex's breath gets caught in his throat. _Don't fucking cry you **fuck**_. "Can you – I – I need you to tell me – t-tell me I can – tell me I _can_. Please."

"You can let go," George says quietly. He's petting Alex's hair with the hand that's not still rubbing his back. "I've got you, everything's fine. You can go."

The relief this time leaves him weak. A tiny flicker of arousal tries to spark but he ignores it, rests his head against George's chest and just –

it takes forever. And it feels good in a way he hasn't felt in – in a way he hasn't felt, maybe, ever? Safe. He feels safe. And relaxed.

And like he is in way, _way_ over his head, because damn. Yes, it's nice that George isn't disgusted, that this hasn't scared him off, but that should really be the end of it. He should have been embarrassed, not terrified, and he should now be pleasantly surprised but still mortified, not – not – _content_.

He shouldn't feel like he somehow _needed_ this reaction. From George specifically.

Well. Fine. He files that away to panic about later – worries right now all feel like far off, buzzing things. He thinks he recognizes this as some heretofore unexplored variation of sub-drop and decides not to look it in the mouth.

"You know," he says, just for something to say, eyes closed, "I don't know _what_ it says about us that you still get tongue-tied about sexual terminology and I'm completely incapable of asking for a fucking _hug_ , but it probably says _something_."

He feels George shrug. "Probably. You good?"

"Mm. Can we just stay here until the hot water runs out." Question marks are for people who have the energy for vocal inflections.

George's hand stills on his back for a moment and then continues. "Are you, uh..."

Alex smirks. "Speaking of things you can't say."

He can practically hear the eye-roll when George sighs. "Are you experiencing sub-drop?"

"You make it sound so clinical."

"I don't know how else to say it. Are you?"

"Probably. Subspace, sub-drop, some combination thereof. But like, in a mostly good way. I think. For now."

They're quiet for a while. Then George clears his throat. "If we're gonna use up all the warm water, we should probably actually. You know. Shower."

Alex groans. "That sounds like work."

"Can I at least get these clothes off you?"

"Be my guest."

It feels like he blinks and then his clothes are in a heap on the other side of the drain. "I should wash my hair," he says, reluctantly. "It'll get all fucked up and tangled if I don't."

George hands him the shampoo and then doesn't actually let go of it.

They look at each other.

"Um," says George. "Maybe I could – ?"

Alex blinks. This is... new. "I mean, if you want to?"

"Only if you're okay with it."

He shrugs. "Go for it."

George hesitates. Takes a deep breath. "Color?"

Alex laughs, a little breathlessly. "Is hairwashing a thing that needs a color?"

"It's – I think it is, yeah, here. While you're. In sub drop or – okay, is there _any_ way to phrase that that doesn't make you laugh at me?"

"No," Alex says through a bout of delighted giggling. "No, I'm pretty sure it's just – just _you_ at this point."

"Uh-huh. Sure. I just mean – it's like. A boundary, right? So... so, _color_."

"Green," Alex says firmly. "I trust you."

And, oh. He almost wishes he wasn't looking when he said that because George kind of just. Beams at him for a second. Alex grins back and doesn't let his thoughts linger on the growing pile of Things To Worry About Later.

George stands, pulls him to his feet. Lets Alex lean against him, works the shampoo into his hair and Alex thinks he could probably actually fall asleep right here, standing up, under a noticeably cooling spray of water.

It's that same feeling again. Safety. He is utterly relaxed, content to drift and let George make the decisions, and it's not because they've negotiated, it's not because he's a scene partner; this isn't a scene and they have never, in fact, discussed the protocol for what to do immediately post-one of Alex's actual worst nightmares coming true.

He trusts him because he's George.

 _It's a good thing rational thought and emotional response are pretty much beyond me right now_ , Alex thinks, with something approaching amusement. _Because I am **so** **fucked**._

**Author's Note:**

> things to look forward(?) to: more (and happier) watersports, probably more hurt/comfort because i'm a bad person, alex introducing a bemused but willing george to bdsm concepts, george learning what a switch is and that he is one but not necessarily in that order, angelica and maria getting married, angelica and john bonding over alex's questionable life choices.
> 
> action! drama! romance! probably no actual sex scenes because i can't write them! highly improbable law firm shenanigans! and a continued overuse of italics, my bad. i took out so many of them, you guys. _so many._


End file.
